


Pack reunited

by Space_Samurai



Series: River children [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Children, F/M, Family Feels, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai
Summary: Arya becomes a widow after a hunting accident. Since she’s done her duty to House Stark and her brother’s promise has been fulfilled, she decides is time to go to her real family.Not the Starks in the North, but a certain bastard boy and their daughter in the Stormlands.





	1. A hidden letter

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the very positive feedback of 'River child', here is the promised sequel :D 
> 
> For those who haven't read the first part, I suggest you do it, else you won't undertand much of the context. 
> 
> With all that said, enjoy!

Arya didn’t hate Elmar Frey, not truly. Her true hate had been reserved for people like Cersei, Joffrey and Ilyn Payne. She only hated what Elmar represented; the chain around her neck, keeping her tied to the Twins and unable to live freely. She hated being his wife, not because he was unpleasant –which he also was- but because she would have rather been with another man, somewhere else.

It wasn’t until she found out about the letters that she truly came to consider his murder.

She and Sansa were playing come-into-my-castle with little Shirei and Ned outside the tower. The little girl was a shy thing, looked down by her older siblings due to her dubious parentage –thing that Arya, for obvious reasons, cared little for-, and got along well with Ned. She was her husband’s younger sister by a few years, but she was much nicer to be around. Arya's heart ached dully every time she gazed upon her, the memory of a little girl that should have been by her side always weighting on her mind.

Arya has never liked to stay inside for long and her son was proving to be the same as her. At barely five years of age, he liked to run and fight with his little wooden sword. The other Frey women were pushing their sons to play with the nephew of the King in the North, in hopes that such friendship would be well rewarded on day. Arya was protective of him, allowing some of the boys but never the leeches near him.

Arya would have liked to teach him herself how to properly use the sword, but Elmar forbade it.

“The war is over, my princess. There is no need for you to ever hold one of these again.” He had said, with a sword of his own in hand. Arya had half hoped he would accidentally fall on it. She wasn’t sure of how much he knew about her whereabouts during the war, but it was very likely that the brotherhood had crossed paths with a member of his family, considering how large it was. Then again, they wouldn’t have recognized her. So it was a mystery how he found out of her talents with the blade.

Her hair was longer than ever, always kept tied on a single braid. Just like women would wear it in the North. The other Frey women might have liked to emulate the southron style in their hair and dresses, but Arya was fond of the simpler things. Elmar himself liked her better in the fancy southron dresses, he wanted everyone to know that he was married to a _princess_. Though Arya rarely acted like one.

There hadn't been any children since Eddard, which worried both her husband and his father. Old Walder Frey refused to die, still breathing and having more brats of his own-thing that he loudly reminded her husband of. The Maester of the Twins, a Frey of course, had given her potions to conceive, but they hadn't worked at all, for Eddard remained an only child. Or so thought the Freys.

Probably because she drank a cup of moontea after every time her husband bedded her. Provided by _Sansa_ of all people, who visited regularly and had never truly left her after the birth of Ned, as she had no husband or castle of her own to keep. They had become closer than ever, in ways Arya would have never expected. She had never confessed the truth of Eddard's parentage to her, too afraid of even thinking about it. She _knew_ that Sansa wouldn't tell, she was certain of it, but still...The words would get stuck in her throat before they got to leave her mouth.

Sansa fell on the mud, earning laughs from the children. She smiled, dirt staining her dress, before rising once more and chasing after little Ned. Arya chuckled despite herself. Ned eventually tripped on a fallen branch, landing in the same puddle of mud Sansa had previously fallen on. Only he got dirty everywhere.

If it had been up to her, she would have let him run around like that, but Sansa threw her a look. Arya sighed, some things never changed.

"Maybe that's enough play for now." Her sister suggested. Arya nodded, the sun was going down any way, and it seemed like a good time to go inside. She was filthy as well and in need of a change of clothes before dinner. Both sisters went inside the tower and Arya let her know she’d go to her husband’s chambers to look for some clothes.

She had never grown used to the Twins, they were nothing like Winterfell. Just thinking of it made her feel nostalgic and terribly lonely. How long has it been since she last saw the familiar castle? Ten years? The last time she had been there, her whole family had been well and alive. Now her father was dead and she was in the Riverlands, playing wife to a man she would never love.

Making friends with people her age had never been easy, not those of her same station at least, for she had bonded easily enough with the other members of the brotherhood. But the people at the Twins held no love for her, as she held none for them in return. Some had tried to get close, in hopes that the princess of the North would provide them with favors for their friendship.

The letters her true friends sent, along with her young son, were the only things that had kept her sane during her years at the Twins.

At the beginning, Ned had written often, kind and chivalrous as ever, telling her of Dorne and Starfall. He had even sent an envoy with his personal favorite dornish wine and fruits. Wenda and Thoros had sailed to the East together, while Anguy had decided to leave the Riverlands and follow Lord Beric to the Stormlands, along with Gendry and Lyarra. _He_ never wrote directly, it was always Beric's elegant letters that delivered his words: never mentioning them by name, always in a small paragraph that would go unnoticed by anyone else.

_There's a most delightful child growing in Blackhaven, my princess. She's barely a year old and runs as freely as the wind._

_Oh, my Allyria has taken a girl under her wing. She cares for her when her father is working at the smithy. The child talks quite a lot, she reminds me of you._

_My lady has given me a daughter. The smith's girl likes to care after her, she's very helpful, always eager to aid those around her. With the promise of sweet treats at the end, of course._

_Ned has finally left Starfall and came to visit us, he stayed for a fortnight and sparred with every youth that crossed his path. He even began teaching the smaller children, there was a remarkable girl with a thin sword of her own, I've only seen something like that once before._

It wasn't much, but Arya read greedily every word. She drank them as if she were a thirsty man in the dornish desert. For four years, the letters came steadily. Until they stopped one day.

It had been a year since she last received any news from anyone, with the exception of her brothers in the North. Far too many moon turns without any news of Lyarra or Gendry. Not even Lord Beric or Ned Dayne wrote anymore. She wasn't worried –or so she tried to convince herself- for should anything happen to them, the great houses would hear of the news. But if nothing had happened, that meant they were not sending them for a reason. Her own letters had not been responded.

Arya’s chest constricted at the possibilities. What if Gendry had decided that it was time to move on and forget her? She had no right to judge him, being married to another man and having his son –at least as far as everyone knew. She had wrote Beric about her son’s beautiful, dark blue eyes, about how much he looked like Arya. Didn’t he understand? Arya had been paranoid to an extreme as she wrote her letters, never lingering too much on any topic and being as vague as possible. But Gendry, through Beric’s ink, had congratulated her on the birth of her son. So he had to know. Right?

She shook her head, wiping the dirt of her hands on the dress and opening the door to her husband’s chambers. They never shared again after Ned’s pregnancy, thing that Arya was forever grateful for. In fact, she didn’t see her husband that often, as he was usually with his brothers doing ‘lord’s duties’. She didn’t care, Arya was much better without him. It only pained her to see little Ned pining for him when he was gone.

She went to look on one of the chests for decent clothes for her son –and secretly for herself-, but something on the bed called her eyes. It was an envelope, likely a letter or a scroll. Arya had seen the Maester on her way to the room, so he had probably left it there for her husband to find at his return.

Unable to keep down her curiosity, she got closer to gaze upon it when her heart stopped. A sword and a falling star in purple wax sealed the envelope, it could be from no other than Ned Dayne. She felt as if the air had been drained from her lungs.

"What do you think you are doing?" Arya turned slowly, to find her husband shaking by the door. His eyes were on her hands, on the tight grip she held over the letter with Starfall’s seal. Then his gaze went up, meeting hers. “You can’t come into my chambers when I’m not-“

“Why do you have this?” She cut him. There was a ringing on her ears and she felt vaguely numb, a howl of sorts forming at the pit of her stomach.

Elmar Frey’s lip trembled with hesitation, for a second. “I’m your husband.” He told her, simply. “I don’t own you any explanations.”

The letter crumpled in her hand, which was aching to hit his face and break his jaw. Again, how was she supposed to put her fingers? The Hound had explained once, twice. She had never been that good at throwing a punch, but it seemed like a good time to try and get better.

“Why do you have this?!” Her voice rose, her throat constricting.

Elmar’s hands shook lightly. “The Maester brings me the letters that come for you from other lords.” Arya’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t possibly know. He would have spoken already if he suspected- “And the ones you send too.”

 _He’s been hiding them._ Arya wanted to scream, to yell and throw a tantrum worthy of a child. Curses danced on her tongue, but the only thing that left her mouth was: “Why?”

Elmar sighed deeply, leaning against the wall before closing the door. He looked as he would have rather been at anywhere else. _Too bad_ , she thought madly. He was here with her, in a closed space.

“It was for the best of both of us.” He crossed his arms. “Your reputation was already…questionable at best when we married. I allowed it to happen because it made you happy, but I can’t have _my_ wife writing to _dornishmen_ ,” he spat the word “and stormlords all day.”

Arya could only stare at him. “They are my friends.” She claimed, her voice strained.

“You have my sisters as companions-“

“My _only_ friends,” she stressed. She thought of Ned Dayne and his kindness; of Lord Beric’s generosity. “They are good men, better than you’ll ever be.” She clutched the letter to her chest. “You had no right, _no right_.”

That irked him. “My brothers kept talking about it, how my princess would rather spend her time writing to other men than talking to me” He pursed his lips. “There were already those rumors about my mother and Black Walder, I couldn’t have my family believing that you were following her path.”

Arya laughed incredulously. “You did it because of that? And you call yourself a man.” She laughed again, wild through the fury. “You are an idiot, _such_ a bloody idiot. You took my one happiness but Ned away.”

He blushed, red rising on his pale cheeks. “You have no idea what it’s like for me, how _hard_ it is.”

“I don’t?” She whispered furiously, her voice now low and menacing. “I had to see my father die, I was alone during the war! I’ve killed more men than you’ll ever kill, I’ve fought more battles than you ever could. Then, when I finally come back to my family, they tell me I have to marry some dimwitted Frey I’ve never met because they had to cross a fucking bridge” She yelled at him. Elmar stared at her, silent.

“If you ever hide _anything_ from me again…” She licked her lips. “I’ll kill you.” It came out much smoother than she would have expected, with her hands shaking with fury.

There was the faintest spark of fear in her husband’s eyes. _Good_ , Arya thought. He wasn’t as stupid as he seemed to be.

Elmar Frey didn’t say anything else regarding the letters, just left in a blur of movement. Later, a maid would tell her that he went on a hunting trip with his brothers.

That night, Arya prayed: to the Old Gods; to Beric’s Red God; to Syrio’s God of Death and to the Stranger. _Take him away_ , she prayed. _Make him drown on a pond, have a snake bite his arm until the poison stops his heart or have him hit by an errant arrow._ She didn’t care how. She wanted him dead.

Beric might have written about Lyarra, she thought sadly. She would have heard about her daughter if it hadn’t been for Elmar. The anger burned deeply, warming her body and encouraging her to take a knife from the table and stab him through the heart when he came back. Maybe she would. She had killed before and the prospect of killing Elmar Frey was more attractive than ever.

She’d kill him, Arya fantasized, then her and Ned would ride north and take refuge with Robb in Winterfell. The Freys could never march there alone, nor would they since their sister was the Queen in the North. After that, she’d go to the Stormlands with her son, she would meet with Lyarra and Gendry and they would all live happily and together until the end of their days, like they should have on the first place.

 

* * *

 

That night, in her dreams, she was a wolf once more.

 

* * *

 

“Arya!” Sansa Stark, in a nightgown, sprinted inside her room. She looked agitated, from what little she could see through her still hazy view. Arya stretched her arms, she had slept like a babe.

“What is it?” She asked, rising from the mountain of pillows.

Sansa’s expression didn’t reveal as much as her lips. “There was an accident.” She took Arya’s hand on her own. “Your husband was attacked by wild dogs during the night. Arya, he’s dead.”


	2. A Fallen Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer than I thought it would be. Chapter count went up again, oops. And thanks everyone who commented and left kudos here, it means the world to me<3

Arya didn't see his body, she was fine with the knowledge that he was dead. She couldn't even bring herself to feign grief, though she did conceal her joy. Elmar Frey was  _ gone _ . She had asked Sansa twice if she was certain that it had been him, anyone else might have thought that she was in shock, but Arya just wanted to be  _ sure _ .  Sansa knew her well, despite the secrets that remained between them, she must have been aware that Arya felt no sorrow for her husband's death.

Little Ned had been her only worry. She told every maid and Frey that the news were hers to give, not theirs. She had stayed still at the end of his bed for what seemed like hours, occasionally caressing his soft hair, dark brown like hers.  _ He looks like me _ , Arya thought. When he was a babe, she had half hoped and half dreaded that he might grow to look like Gendry. In one hand, she would have liked the visual reminder of the freedom she once had; to love and to bed. On the other, Gendry looked  _ nothing _ like Elmar Frey. He was, at least when she last saw him, big, strong and hairy. Elmar Frey was none of those, he had been tall, yes, but lanky. With no beard or chest hair, unlike Gendry.

It would have been suspicious,  _ way  _ too dangerous. So it was a blessing he had the Stark's long face instead, along with their hair. The blue eyes were Gendry's, of that she had no doubt. She had gazed upon them enough to recognize them anywhere.

She took a deep breath before shaking his shoulder lightly.

"Ned," she whispered. "Wake up."

The boy, like any child would, groaned and turned his head on the pillow.

"I don't want to." He whined. Arya had to contain a scoff. She poked him below the ribs, making him squeal at the tickles.

"Come on, don't be lazy. The Gods punish the slackers." She warned, but her tone was light.

Little Ned rose his head from the sheets. "Mama, you said the Seven weren't real." Then, he added. "Except for the Stranger."

"Don't repeat that around your aunts." The last thing she needed was any of them gossiping about the things she taught her son. Most of the Frey women fashioned themselves southron and feigned piteousness. Arya kept to the Old Gods, and once in a while to the Stranger and the Red God. She'd have to light a candle for each one, Arya thought. She had prayed and they had delivered. "I need to tell you something." 

He must have sensed something was wrong because of her voice. Arya braced herself for his reaction. "Your father and his brothers went hunting yesterday-"

"As always," he murmured sadly. Arya's throat closed, but she didn't correct him. 

"There was an accident." Ned blinked at her. "You know that there are wild dogs running freely in the woods near the Kingsroad. The hunting party met with a pack." His eyes widened. 

"...is everyone alright?"

Arya licked her lips, her mouth felt as dry as the dornish desert. "Your father," the word tasted like ash, "didn't make it."

Ned's blue eyes dug into hers, big and innocent. Arya did the only thing that came to her mind: she opened her arms. He buried his head in her neck, his small body warm against hers. His shoulders shook lightly, but no sounds left his mouth. 

She could still remember vividly the pain of losing her own father, the crowd cheering and Yoren's hold on her. She had felt so lonely, away from her family. But Ned had her, and Arya didn't plan to die any time soon. 

"Mama… I need to tell you something." His voice filled with dread, Ned sniffed on her shoulder. "He wasn’t my father.”

Arya's blood ran cold, she freed him from her crushing embrace to look on his eyes. "What do you mean by that?" She asked, barely concealing her nervousness, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage.

His eyes were glassy with unshed tears as he spoke the truth that haunted him. “He told me last night. That my father was a dornishman.” His lower lip trembled and he started crying. “I’m sorry Mama!” Then, he went to hug her again. Arya stayed frozen. What in the Seven Hells-?

“Ned,  _ Ned. _ What are you talking about?”

“Before he went hunting, he-he asked me to go with him. I didn’t want to, I don’t like my cousins or my uncles.” Arya hugged him tighter. “He got mad.” Ned whispered. “Said I didn’t have a sense of family because-because I was the son of  _ some bloody dornishman. _ ” He started crying again, not before apologizing once more, though Arya couldn’t understand why.

She wished for Elmar Frey to rise again so she could kill him herself.

“Listen to me,” she began, holding his cheeks and staring into his puffy eyes. “Your father was no dornishman.” If he and Lyarra had been his, Arya would have sent them to Dorne where bastards were treated well, as Edric had told her. “If Elmar Frey had been a dornishman, I would have liked him much better.” A strange laugh left his lips, yet it did not stop his tears. “Why do you keep apologizing? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“The others told him that- that you were-“He frowned. “Aunt Sansa wouldn’t want me to repeat it.” His hands formed little fists. “I told him that I hated him and them.”

Rage burned in her chest, not for the slander of her name but for the effect it had on her son. She didn’t fear, for she was certain that the older Freys were just looking to enrage their younger, much stupid brother, and not making serious accusations. It was almost a sport in the Twins, to throw implications about the children’s paternities; for the seat of the Twins was one, and the pretenders many.

They put King’s Landing to shame, Arya thought bitterly.

“You are not happy here.” She stated. Her decision was made in that moment. “And I’m not, either.” She clasped their hands together. “We are going away, you and me. We are going to visit some old friends and have some adventures. And we will never have to see any of them again, what do you think?”

A small smile formed on his lips. “I would like to.”

“I want you to remember something, alright? It doesn’t matter whose blood runs through your veins,  _ I  _ brought you into this world and that makes you-“Arya hesitated for a second. She was a Stark, Gendry had been Waters and Lyarra was a Rivers. A name was too simple to tie them all together when something much deeper did.  “mine. You are part of my pack, you are not Elmar Frey’s son, you are  _ mine. _ ”

Her son didn’t seemed bothered at the denial of the name he had worn for so long.

 

* * *

 

There was little grandeur in a funeral on the Twins, much like in the namedays, for the members of the family died as often as others were born to replace them. Unlike her wedding, Arya didn’t felt numb during the whole affair. She felt happy, may the Gods punish her, but she felt joyous. Free as she hadn’t in such a long time.

So delirious in her own happiness, she was a cup away from grasping Sansa’s hands and dancing around her bedroom with her. Which wouldn’t be wise, as she was playing the role of grieving widow. Her sister wasn’t fooled, Arya suspected. Sansa had played the role of consoling sister much more convincingly.

Little Ned did not grieve for his father either, at least not visibly. When he had calmed down, Arya had realized that he had been more afraid of her own sadness at the rumors from his uncles than for his deceased father. Elmar had never bother to cultivate a great relationship with his son, he spent more time with Arya and Sansa than with him. She suspected it was for because of his own relationship with his father: Lord Walder did not appear to love much his children, nor did he seem interested on them beyond their siring and claiming their achievements for his house.

Instead of repairing that through little Ned, Elmar had repeated such behavior. Ned used to get sad when he saw his father leave with his brothers to hunt, only to grow used to it, no longer caring for the man or his attentions. Some part of Arya was grateful for this: Ned would have suffered much more if he had been a loving father, much like his namesake. It would also be easier for him to abandon the name that was never his to begin with and, she hoped, things would go…  _ smooth  _ when he met Gendry.

He was still so young, as she failed to see with him being so bright. They’d have plenty of time to get used to one another, Arya told herself. Gendry might make him a sword of his own, to replace the wooden one he often played with. Lyarra would play with him and teach him how to properly wield it, if she didn’t knew how already –which Arya doubted, for Gendry was her father- she’d teach them both.

She was getting ahead of herself, they needed to leave the Twins before she could start thinking about the Stormlands. During the mass for her husband’s soul, Arya began formulating a plan. First of all, she’d need to steal her horse from the stables and fool the guards from the gates. She made note to start searching for every piece of jewelry she had, for she’d need coin if they were to travel for long.

She also needed to tell Sansa. Arya was desperate to see the rest of her family, but if she rushed things may go wrong. She couldn’t run away in the night and leave Sansa in the lion’s den.  _ Like she had once done.  _ Arya shifted uncomfortably in her black dress. She had seen faint silver lines in her sister’s skin, the kind that were left by swords. They were done to her in the Red Keep, that much she could deduce. A part of her didn’t dare to ask, even if she had seen her share of horrors during her years with the brotherhood. She didn’t dare to apologize either, though the words had often lingered on her tongue before vanishing again.

If Sansa resented her for any of it, she surely didn’t show it. She had shown her nothing but kindness and support ever since her wedding to Elmar Frey. Arya suspected it was because of her own experience with unwanted marriages.

That night, when little Ned was asleep on one side of her bed, Arya insisted that Sansa stayed. Her sister compiled without a blink. They didn't say in silence for long, Arya didn't see the point in delaying the truth.

"You are mad," Sansa told her after Arya resumed her plans to her. The younger woman played nervously with a string on her dress.

"I'm not, Ned will never be happy here and I won't be either-"

"Why don't you ask Robb to have you back at the North? I don't think Braavos is a safe place for an unmarried woman and her son."

Arya been honest about her plans of leaving. She hadn't confessed the  _ whole _ thing, however. There was still the chance that Sansa would tell their brother instead of helping her.

"Robb will marry me to another of bannermen as soon as I set a foot in Winterfell." Arya couldn't keep the bitterness off her voice. She had come to  _ understand _ why he had done it, but she was yet to forgive him for using her as a bargaining chip. "I can't go North."

Sansa bit her lip. "Still, it's a risk to run in the night. The Twins are well guarded, regardless of what you may think. You won't get to the other side of the bridge without getting caught."

She was right. "Men can be bought." Specially Frey men.

Sansa raised a fine eyebrow. "By a soldier or a common merchant? Yes. By a Princess of the North with her son on tow? No."

"Then what should I do?" She asked. "You appear to know everything, so tell me:  _ what should I do? _ "

"First of all, be patient." A small smile appeared on her lips. "You've never been."

"Patience won't get me out of here, it'll get me married to another bloody Walder."

"You think I didn't want to escape at any chance, with barely formulated plans that included questionable means?" There was no need to clarify what she was referring to. Arya's mouth closed. "I'm not scolding you. I  _ want  _ to help you. But you are lying to me, and I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth."

Arya's nails dug into her palms. She took a deep breath before speaking again. "I need to get out of here, desperately, because… I have someone,  _ people  _ waiting for me."

"In Braavos?" Sansa questioned, not unkindly.

Then, the truth came out. "In the Stormlands, in Blackhaven with Lord Beric." She swallowed thickly. "I have a daughter, older than Ned. Her name is Lyarra, do you remember the man that arrived to Riverrun with me? His name is Gendry." How her eyes burned, it had been so long since she had last uttered their names. "He is her father… and Ned's" Sansa's eyes widened almost comically. Whatever she might have thought that Arya was going to say, this wasn't it. 

"I didn't knew at first. I told Gendry to take Lyarra, then I married Elmar and I was soon with child-" She choked. "I didn't know!"

"It's fine." She hugged her, while Arya tried to keep her sobs down. Little Ned was sleeping right next to them. "Gods Arya, why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid." She whispered.

"I wouldn't tell on you, we are not children anymore."

_ No,  _ she agreed silently,  _ we are not. _

"Would you like to stay for to tonight?"

In the darkness of the bedroom, now with little Ned sleeping between them, Arya mustered: “If you ever marry, that man will be the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.” Even in the dark, she could see Sansa smile a bit.

“I still wish to marry a knight, one day. I’m yet to meet a man who can call himself a  _ true _ knight, however.” She responded, with sadness in her voice. “I know the men of the North are honorable, but I…I need  _ more  _ than that.”

Sansa needed warmth, Arya thought. In her head, she searched for a true knight. Gendry  _ had  _ been knighted, some had called him Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, though he had always remained ‘bullheaded idiot’ to Arya. He was hers and imagining him with Sansa was impossible, laughable even.

Who else? Violet eyes and a white smile shone in her head, along with a well-humored laugh and a handsome face. Probably one of the kindest men she had ever met, Edric Dayne was also charming and handsome. The whores had used to fawn all over him and he'd blush and stare away. Galant and a true knight: Arya was certain.

“I know one.” Arya yawned.

Sansa’s long hair tickled her nose on the pillow. “You do?”

“Aha. He was rather shy, but he’s dornish, so he must know about love.” Sansa gasped. “If he’s at Blackhaven, I’ll make sure to tell him to write you. So you won't bore in the North when I'm long gone."

If Ned hadn’t been there with them, Arya was sure that Sansa would have said ‘ _ Arya!’ _ in a reproachful tone with that shrill voice of hers.

 

* * *

 

They should have known it wouldn't be that easy. 

They waited for a week before bringing their request, though Arya saw it more as an announcement, to Lord Walder. The head of House Frey, expectedly, refused them quickly.

“No.” The man responded. “You have a duty to our house, you kingly brother swore me an oath. He wanted a bridge and I wanted a groom and a bride.” He slurred, as if Arya hadn’t heard the tale a thousand times in her years in the Twins. “We shall marry you to Waltyr, whom remains unwed, when mourning is over.”

“With all due respect, Lord Walder.” Arya spat, with little respect. “The promise my brother made has been fulfilled. I was your son’s wife and I gave him a son. My duty here is  _ done. _ ” Her voice left no room for arguments, but Lord Walder wasn’t used to things not going his way. “I’m going home.”

His wrinkled face frowned, making him look like a pale raisin.

“But  _ this  _ is your home. Your son is a Frey,  _ you  _ are Arya Frey.” The old man did not bother to hide his pleasure as the words left his mouth. He enjoyed having the upper hand. Arya gritted her teeth as she kept herself from climbing on the table to slap the smile off his face.

Before she could do so, Sansa intervened smoothly.

"Lord Walder," the Stark spoke, "My brother wishes to meet his nephew, and my mother her grandson." She walked closer to the old man, graceful and regal as if she were the Queen in the North. "My sister is grieving her husband and you are grieving a son," Arya had her doubts about both statements, but she remained quiet as her sister spoke. "All she wishes it's to be by her family's side in such harsh times. I'm sure you'll understand." She smiled kindly. "She hasn't seen them since her wedding."

Old Walder wasn't moved. "She can go to the North, but the boy is a Frey: he remains with  _ us _ ."

Sansa did not flinch at his harsh tone, nor winced under his leering gaze. She sighed, as if deeply pain. "My lord, it's rather… urgent for Eddard to know the North." She lowered her voice. "May we speak privately?"

With a shout from the head of their house, the few Freys that were in the hall left it quickly. No one wanted to evoke Lord Walder's anger.

Sansa bit her lip in a nervous gesture. "My brother's queen has given him three daughters, Lord Walder." She eyed the man suggestively. "Gods bless her, but should she fail to provide him an heir…" her gaze fell upon the boy.  "I've got no children of my own, one of my younger brothers is unable to sire children and the other has lived amongst wildlings for far too long to become the leader we need."

Lord Walder's eyes shone with ambition. Not only his daughter was the Queen in the North, but to have one of his grandsons, one that wore the name  _ Frey  _ for most of his life and grew up at the Twins, to become the King in the North...It would be priceless, a slap to the cheek of dead Lord Hoster who had always thought him to be less.

"I understand your worries girl," he spoke. "House Frey is loyal, if you need the boy, you shall have him." Arya didn’t get to celebrate for he soon spoke again. “However,” his eyes narrowed, “my men will escort you all to the North. And once that’s over, they’ll bring you  _ back. _ ”

Sansa smiled sweetly. “Of course.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elmar was a shitty father, but we all saw that coming right? 
> 
> Sansa and Arya are doing their best. Also Arya is totally gonna get sweet Edric with her sis. I'm spoiling it for y'all.
> 
> Did you guys enjoy it? What do you think is going to happen next ?
> 
> Let me know in the comments ;)


	3. The wolves are together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Sansa leave the Twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha...Remember when the chapter count was three? 
> 
> Also, this chapter was a monster. Hopefully it makes up for the time it took.

Robert Frey liked to believe that he wasn’t like most of his family members. He had always stood out from the rest due to his sharp mind and an ability to both read and write quickly. As the son of Ryman Frey there was little for him to inherit, so at a young age he decided to attend the Citadel: to become a maester. He forged all of his links and returned to the Twins in an (at least from his point of view) impressive time.

It’s because of his perceived wisdom that he, when Princess Arya of House Stark presses a dagger to his throat and tells him not to scream, remains silent as a lamb. It feels like it’s the smart thing to do.

“You have been giving my husband things that did not belong to him,” she tells him, with the cold of her home in her eyes. Of all the ways Robert Frey saw himself dying, this one had never crossed his mind. As if the princess could read his thoughts, she spoke reassuringly. “I’m not going to kill you Robert,” the corner of her lip went upwards. “Not yet at least.”

“Was…Ah-Was there anything you needed, Your Grace?” He’d happily provide. 

“Indeed, there is. I want the letters that are rightfully mine.” Robert wanted to cry.

“Apologies,” he begged. “My brother burnt them as soon as they were read.” There was the faintest shift on her expression. If he hadn’t been so afraid, Robert might have scolded her. His brother had confided his suspicions, the woman must be saddened at the loss of her lover’s letters. Such a whorish behavior unbefitting of a-

The sharpness bit on his neck uncomfortably, making him wince in apprehension. “I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace.” Sweat began dripping from the side of his head.  “Please, have mercy-“

To his utter astonishment, she laughed bitterly. “I’ve already told you, I’m not going to kill you.” Not now, it went unspoken. “There’s something else you can do for me, will you help?”

Robert Frey couldn’t nod fast enough. “Of course, Your Grace.” He licked his lips nervously. “Whatever you may need.”

Arya Stark nodded. “I need to send a raven to the brothers of the Wall, I have a message for their Lord Commander.” Robert Frey swallowed, why would she write to the Night’s Watch? “And I need a raven sent to Starfall.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You think you can manage that?”

“Yes, I can.” The dagger was removed and Robert Frey breathed once again.

“And Maester,” she added before leaving. “I’d appreciate it if you left my letters sealed before you send them.” There was no need of verbal threats to understand what would happen if he didn’t. “And Lord Walder has no need to hear of this.” A smile formed in her lips. “He’s mourning a son and he’s a poor old man, there’s no reason to make him worry about silly letters.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“It’s princess.” With that, she turned and left him alone. 

 

* * *

 

The day of their departure wouldn't come soon enough. In the weeks that the ravens were sent and the parties were arranged, Arya acted like the perfect grieving widow. Well, a perfect Frey widow: not really sad, but pretending to be in a feigned sign of respect to her late husband. Unlike the others though, Arya wasn’t eyeing the other Frey bachelors to see which would come to take the empty spot Elmar had left. _They_ were watching her, Arya hadn’t felt so many eyes upon her since the day she first arrived to the Twins –miserable and bitter, newly wedded. 

Her late husband’s brothers didn’t seem to care that their father already had in mind a new groom for her, Elmar’s brother, Waltyr. They stared at her in the way a starving man would to a smoked jam that laid just within his reach. She could only guess that they hoped to gain some favors from her brother if they were to marry her. Many Frey boys were being fostered at Winterfell, while a handful of Frey girls were ladies-in-waiting to Queen Roslin. 

She was oddly reminded of how many Lannisters there had been at King’s Landing when she had attended court with her father and sister, a lifetime ago. The King in the North had rewarded House Frey’s loyalty, many of their descendants had married northerner families. Though she didn’t believe they would try for anything funny; the North would have them slaughtered if they ever did, in a kind reminder to Lord Walter that he was considered little more than a weasel.

The plan was set in motion the second the ravens flew from Maester Robert’s hands, under Arya’s supervision of course, so now she had nothing to do. She could only pray for the ravens to arrive safely to their destinations. In the meantime, she spent all time with her son and Sansa. 

She couldn’t tell him of who Gendry was yet, but she could tell him about the man. Talking about her years with the brotherhood had been too painful before, for it inevitably rose her memories of Lyarra, but now they filled her with hope. Soon, she thought. Soon, they’d all be together for the first time, and they’d be a real family.  

A frown had formed on her son’s face when she had ended one of her stories.

“Mama, I don’t understand. If you were so happy with them, why did you leave?”

Her heart ached on her chest. “The brotherhood was there to protect the smallfolk during the war, and everyone went their way when it was over.” Most had gone together, but Arya kept that part to herself. “You’ll meet many of them soon.” She promised and little Ned smiled. “And remember, all of this is…”

“A secret!” He whispered excitedly.

“Yes,” Arya nodded with a smile of her own. “A secret.”

A ‘secret’ between her, her sister, her brother, her son and a bunch of other lords. Arya was secretly impressed with the length of their little plot. Even Sansa was. Once the letters had been sent, Arya had gone to let her know and when they went through the plan again, as they shared a cup of wine, Sansa sat still with a baffled look in her face. 

“We put Cersei to shame.” Arya muttered, and there had barely been any sourness in her voice. Something dark shone in Sansa’s eyes. 

“I think she’d be proud of us.” She responded, shocking them both. They stared at each other in silence for a second, before breaking into mad laughter. Arya hadn’t laughed like that in _years_ and seeing Sansa lose her composure to the point of tears only aggravated her.

By the time they were both done, wet streams ran through their faces and a blush covered their cheeks. It took a few calming breaths to be at ease again.

“Gods, I wish I had been the one to kill her.” Arya confessed, serving herself another cup.

Sansa frowned, her pretty face scrunching in an ugly gesture. “ _I_ should have been the one to kill her.” She took a sip from her own cup. “I think I had it earned.”

Arya blinked at her. “I can’t see you killing anyone.” 

The corner of her sister’s lip lifted. “The chance never came...Or it did. I almost killed Joffrey once.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ” And why was she only hearing of it now?

“He took me to see the heads. Father, Septa Mordane,” so that had been the fate of the woman. “Other northerners. We were on the roof, if I had pushed him we would have both died. But it would have been worth it, if the Hound had not stopped me.” Sansa seemed sad for a bit. “I never knew what became of him after the Blackwater.”

Arya almost chocked. “I do. He was with me in the brotherhood, for _years._ ” She tried to remember if Beric had mentioned him in any of his letters. “I think he might have gone to Essos when the war ended, or maybe he joined Beric and Gendry to the Stormlands. I don’t really know, but he fought with us for a long time.”

Sansa’s expression was unreadable. “It’s good to hear that. He was one of the only people who showed me any kindness in the Red Keep. Even if he was no true knight.” Arya felt shame. While the roads had been dangerous, she had always been safe with the brotherhood, not to mention that she had been surrounded by friends. Sansa had been alone, completely on her own and at the mercy of Joffrey and his mother. 

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out. “I’ve been wanted to apologize for a while now.”

Sansa’s eyebrows raised to her hairline. “For what?” 

“For leaving you behind all those years ago. I should have gone to get you after I escaped the golden cloaks.” Arya shook her head. “When I was with the brotherhood, I should have asked them to help me-” 

“ _Arya,_ ” her voice was grave. “I never blamed you. Not for any of it.” Her expression softened and Arya was reminded of their mother. “We were children. If you had tried, you would have been caught.” She sighed. “And just like I would have probably not survived your journey, I can tell you for sure that you wouldn’t have survived the Red Keep.”

Arya wished she could back to the day she arrived at Riverrun, just so she could sit and speak Sansa. It would have been much nicer, much _easier_ , to have told her all of this sooner. She had never felt so close to her sister.

“I never thanked you for staying with me here. I would have gone mad alone.”

Sansa grasped her hand. “No you wouldn’t have. You were always the braver one, remember?”

Arya was invaded by sadness at the knowledge that they would soon be parted forever.

 

* * *

 

The day arrived and they parted north. Fifteen Frey men rode by their wheelhouse. The head of the house had bid them farewell with that weasel face of his. Arya didn’t bother to return the gesture.

Arya and Sansa had never been particularly affectionate with each other; as kids, Arya would be covered in dirt from head to toe, so Sansa would keep her distance. Now, in the last years, they had become closer but they didn’t often hug or kiss one another.

During the journey, Arya slept on her shoulder with little Ned tucked on her side. More often than not, Sansa’s hand found way to her dark hair; reminding her of how their mother used to comfort her as a child.

Their mother would have been delighted if she could see them, all she had ever wanted was for them to get along. And for Arya to be more like her.

The days went by quickly in the Kingsroad, unlike when they had been children on their way to King’s Landing. Again, moving the whole royal court was a different thing, and the Twins were far closer to Winterfell. She felt nostalgic, and found herself longing for the times they were just children playing by the Trident.

Then she remembered that Joffrey had been there, that Lady had gotten killed and Nymeria had to be spooked away, and that the Hound had killed her friend Mycah. All of that before they even got to King’s Landing.  It was a wonder how they had survived their childhoods.

The lands became colder and the roads desolate as they got closer to Winterfell, and then came the day they arrived. One of the riders went to give warn of their arrival, and they soon found themselves crossing the gates.

She remembered being in the other side of this once. When she had been a little girl with a whole family, she had stared at the royal family and their party with wide-eyed fascination. Though honestly, she had been more curious about the man they called the Imp and the beast that was called the Hound.

Now, she left the wheelhouse with her arms liked with Sansa’s, her other hand holding her son’s hand. All of Winterfell was there, with quite the few familiar faces and a lot of people she didn’t knew. In the first line, she recognized Roslin, as she was the one who had changed the least. In her arms was Arya’s youngest niece, Lyanna Stark. By her side, the two other little princesses stood still; those were Branda and, the Gods above laughed, Lyarra.

Arya had snorted loudly when the letter informing of her birth arrived, only to break down in tears latter. She had spent the day inside the tower, refusing to see anyone who wasn’t her son or sister.

Her eldest brother was by her side, tall and wearing a beard as red as his hair. There was a strange look in his face, but his happiness was evident as he looked upon them. Her mother was at his left, grey strands coloring her bright red hair. Arya’s heart twisted painfully on her chest, the resentment she felt at them wavered at the sight. Sansa went forward to greet them, freeing her from her hold.

Then, Arya turned her neck and she was met by _Jon_. Even taller than Robb, with a handsome face that looked nothing like the one he had as a young man, with a black cloak and a black beard to match it, her bastard brother took a sharp breath when he saw her. Tears burnt in her eyes before she could help it, Arya felt like a little girl again and soon she run to hug him.

He received her warmly, as if the years hadn’t stretched between them. It was nice to know that, unlike the rest of the world, Jon remained the same. She didn’t care that it was unseemly for her to jump at him, ignoring the look that her mother was certainly giving her, Arya hugged him tighter. Gods above, she had missed him. They were children the last time they had seen each other, now he was a man and Arya was a mother. If only their father could see them. Oddly enough, Jon looked much more like him than Robb did.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, not low enough so others couldn’t hear them. Jon’s eyes sparkled.

“The King in the North saw fit to write me of your visit, he thought you would like to see me.” _Oh, did he?_ Arya thought. Robb was aiding her plans without even knowing.  “I came to search for new recruits as well, it was the perfect time to get back from beyond the Wall.”

“You have been beyond the Wall?” A shy and exited voice asked. Arya’s son barely reached Jon’s hip. The people were dispersing, as the king had dismissed them to have a more personal welcome.

“Many, many times. My men say that I might as well join the wildlings if I’m going to spend so much time with them.” Ned’s eyes widened. Arya could only smile, she had read Jon’s letters regarding the wildlings and their shaky truce with the men of the Wall. “We are negotiating with their king and leaders, and for that we must get to know them well.”

“I never thought you’d be an apt politician, Jon.” Sansa’s smooth words came from behind them and Jon stiffened. “It’s good to see you.”

He offered an awkward bow. “Princess Sansa.” Her sister ignored it, going for a hug of her own, though hers was much shorter and lighter. Jon returned it as best as he could.

“Jon is my Uncle Jon?” Ned asked and Arya nodded.

“Yes and not your only uncle. Where are Rickon and Bran?” Arya wondered out loud. She found it odd that their mother would have let them skip the welcome, even if they were young men.

“I dare you try to keep them in one place.” Robb replied. “Bran might not be able to walk, but Gods, he can be sneaky.”

Arya would have ignored him, if it weren’t for the look that Sansa was giving her. She didn’t bow, only nodded at him. “Your Graces,” She tried her best courteous smile for Roslin, who shyly returned it. “This is my son, Eddard.”

“We have heard a lot of him,” he said with his eyes on the boy. Ned tried for a bow of his own, but it’d seem that proper curtsies didn’t run in the family. “Bran and Rickon have told me that you are fond of swords?” The little snitches.

Before he could answer, Arya intervened. “Where are them?”

Robb’s face fell for a second, but he quickly recovered it. “They must be in the wolfswood with the Reeds.” Arya had heard from the Reed brother and sister in Bran’s letters. Apparently, they all had lived quite the adventure together. “Rickon has the Wolf’s blood, no one can keep him still these days. Bran is more reserved, but he is dragged into it.”

That did pull a real smile out of her. It was good to know that some things had changed for good. The smile lasted until her eyes met her mother’s. It wasn’t just the grey hair, thin lines were carved in her marble skin, and her frame seemed thinner: her mother had aged gracefully.

“Mother,” her voice cracked only slightly. She soon found herself engulfed in her arms, and Arya wanted to be angry, but she had missed her.

 

* * *

 

Robb tried to speak to her for three days, but Arya was no fool, she found excuses easily. First, they had been tired from their long journey. Her son had to be put to bed and so her. Then she rode to meet Bran and Rickon in the wolfswood, to find out that Hodor had survived and that a wildling woman was friends with them. The Reeds were nice enough, Arya liked Meera instantly; the older girl wore breeches and carried a spear in her back.

Sansa didn’t agree with what she was doing and made sure to tell her so. Arya couldn’t understand why, of all people, she thought that Sansa would understand.

“He is _our_ brother.” She had pointed out. “Father wouldn’t want you to hate him.”

“How can you say that?” Arya didn’t hate him, not exactly. “All I wanted was to go home, for all of us to be a family again and the first thing he does when I arrived to Riverrun was to sell me to the highest bidder. Our father would have never done that.”

Not a single muscle moved in Sansa’s face. “You know it wasn’t like that.” She did, but that didn’t make her any less angry. “Our brother had to stop being our brother the moment they placed a crown in his head. He couldn’t think like a man, he had to be the King in the North.”

Arya scowled but Sansa was relentless. “He needed that bridge, you know what would have happened if they hadn’t crossed it? Tywin Lannister would have come, the Mountain in tow, to burn every field in the north.” A shiver went down her spine at the mention of those men. Memories of Harrenhall invaded her. “Not to mention that if the northern armies hadn’t crossed, the Riverlands would have been put to the torch, and Gods know what would have been of you and me.” Sansa took a deep breath. “I would have married Joffrey.”

“He was promised to Margaery-“

“Only because her father’s army was needed. If Tywin hadn’t been busy fighting Robb, he would have been at King’s Landing, no Tyrells needed to defend it.” Her palm met her eyes. “ _Arya,_ what I mean to say is that he did what he had to, and under any circumstances it would have been a fine deal.”

Arya could only stare at her.

“You think that our father would have let you stay unwed your whole life? Well, you are wrong.” Arya opened her mouth to speak in his defense, but Sansa cut her sharply. “I know that you think otherwise, but if you believe for a second that he would have let you gone your way to the Stormlands, you are wrong. It would have been an insult to every last one of our bannermen, to give his daughter to a bastard who’s not even of the North.”

Arya bit the inside of her cheek, doing her best to keep the tears away.

“I’m not saying he would have shipped you off the second you flowered.” She continued, gentler. “But you must realize that you wouldn’t have stayed in Winterfell forever even if he had been alive.”

Her sister’s words brew inside her head for a night before she allows Robb to pull her aside before dinner. They had been playing outside with the snow when he came. Little Ned wasn’t used to it, and while the weather in the Twins wasn’t unbearably hot, it was a wonder to him.

Robb had asked for a word and Arya had nodded tightly, leaving her son with her other brothers and Sansa, whose gaze she felt as they left the yard.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.” He began. “There just hasn’t been the chance-“

“I know,” she interrupted him. Robb wasn’t faced.

“You haven’t forgave me yet.” There was no need to clarify of what. “But since your husband has passed and you and Sansa are back home, I thought it would be good for us to resolve anything left between us.”

“ _Resolve?_ ” Anger rose within her, the wolf barking at the jest. “You sold me like cattle.” Venom dripped her voice, and Arya was reminded of a woman who spoke similarly, though she couldn’t remember her face.

“You cannot think it’s what I wanted, I had to do what was necessary." He pushed back. "I would have never done it if there had been any other way." At her silence, he groaned. "I did my duty too."

An incredulous laugh escaped her. “You had to things you didn’t want? Roslin Frey is the perfect queen!” Her voice was becoming higher, and she’ll be screeching soon if she didn’t control it. “It must have been _so hard_ for you to marry a woman who’d never speak a word against you, whose only purpose in this bloody life is to give you little heirs-I never wanted any of this!”

“I didn’t want her!” He yells back, the young wolf rising against her. “I thought you would understand,” he lowered his voice, “having heard all the rumors.”

“The rumors about me and the Stormlords and the dornishmen?” She bit out, now mad that he would bring it up. If he was going there, she’d punch his kingly face, she had enough of that with Elmar.

Robb’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Then what rumors?!”

“You haven’t heard of it.” Robb whispered, shook.

Arya’s anger dulled for a second. “Heard what?”

“Jeyne Westerling has a bastard son.” And the pain in Robb’s eyes spoke of the truth. “You think you were the only one forced into marriage, the only one who made sacrifices?” There’s also fury, she realizes. One that matches her own. “I did what I had to do. The Freys had heard of Jeyne’s pregnancy, even as I married Roslin… I couldn’t let them think that I would break your betrothal, not with things so fragile in the kingdoms.”

Robb sighed deeply, seeming as old as their Father had been. “I never wanted any of this. But I had to do it, for our people. I had to.”

Arya thinks of the last time she saw Lyarra, tucked in the crook of Sharna’s neck as she weaved them when they left. Gendry’s blue eyes came to her mind, and her son’s by consequence.  

And just like that, her anger was gone.

“Have you ever met him?”

Robb shook his head. “I’ve been wanting to foster him for ages, but it would be an insult to Roslin, and I can’t even acknowledge that he’s mine because-“

 _He’s the heir to the North._ Lord Walder’s ambitious eyes shone in her head, as long as Roslin kept giving him daughters…

“Because he’d be a pretender to the throne.” Robb nodded silently. Arya understood. “I hated you. I hated you and Mother for _so_ long. All I wanted was to go home, for all of us to be a family again…And you just gave me away like cattle the moment I returned.”

“I’m sorry.” He offered meekly. “I can promise you that you’ll never marry anyone you don’t wish to ever again.”

“Lord Walder seems to believe otherwise.”

“The Others can take Lord Walder, he wanted a bride he’s had it.” He tried giving him a smile, fragile as glass. “You and your son will stay here, if he has any complaints, he can send his ravens. If you never want to marry again, that’s _fine_. All debts have been paid.”

Stay forever. Six years ago, she would have jumped in joy at the opportunity. Gendry would have worked at the forge, Lyarra would have grown spoiled by her aunt, uncles and grandmother. Ned would have gotten to know his father. Arya would have never had to stare back at the cursed South.

But she couldn’t have that now.

Not marrying ever again didn’t mean that she could go to the Stormlands to live with her bastard _paramour_ and their bastard children.

“That would be lovely,” she whispers. The hope in Robb’s eyes hurt more than she dared to admit, all her brother wanted was forgiveness.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He promises. “We will ride to the Wall and visit Jon often, we will hunt and Meera can help you wield the spear. Would you like that?” He smiles, there’s the need of making her happy, of fixing what’s left of their family. His arms are open in a conciliating gesture and Arya allows herself to hug him.

“Yes, I would.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go. There are still some things left before out pack reunites at last, but for now we are done. 
> 
> Ned would roll in his grave about his children's honor lol, but seriously, hope it made sense. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think, and don't hate me too hard if this is a mess of feels.
> 
> By all means, hope you enjoyed!


	4. A little Dornish ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Ned slip away from Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally here we have it, thank you guys for supporting this fic, I love your comments and thoughts <3

For a week, Arya spends all the time she can with her family. She makes sure to create good memories of them for her son, who has only ever known the Freys as an example of what a family should be. Meera Reed lets him use her spare spear, though is gigantic next to the little boy and he can barely lift it.

She spends time with Bran and Rickon, who have both grown to be wilder than she ever was in her youth. The wolf's blood was in them, her father would have said. There’s a story behind it, she gets pieces of it by the Reeds and Osha, a wildling woman they had met years ago and became a trusted friend. Arya gets the feeling that Robb isn’t aware of the fact that their younger siblings went beyond the Wall, else he would have told her himself. In return for their trust, Arya feeds them bits of her adventures with the Brotherhood Without Banners. 

Sansa gets to hear her tales too and never once says a comment about how improper her actions were. Arya appreciated the gesture. Her son’s eyes shine brightly at any mentions of sword-fighting and bandits, Arya sees the yearning for adventure in them. A smile pulls at her, she’ll make sure he gets plenty of those once they get reunited with their family. 

Her oldest brother keeps the Frey guards out of her sight. Arya is not sure of where they are staying, but in the time that follows her arrival, she gets not a glimpse of them. She is not complaining. 

Roslin Frey is kind. That’s all she can say about her, for it’s all she shows. Arya can’t help but stare at her when she’s looking away. She’s Robb’s Elmar, but not exactly. Elmar had been a nightmare to deal with, but the fact that her marriage to Robb is the reason he can’t see his son makes it similar enough. A bitter part of her still hasn’t forgave Robb, maybe she never will, and thinks it’s only fair he suffers too. She shakes that thought off her, she’s seen what bitterness and resentment can do to a person.

Her nieces are so lovely it almost hurts to look at them. Perfect princesses they were, much like Sansa and Myrcella were as children. The last time she had heard of that girl was from a soldier, who told them she was still living in Dorne under the Martell’s protection. Branda and Lyarra looked like Sansa had once, but Arya could see bits of their Stark heritage in them. It only made her ache for her own daughter.

The topic of her marriage to Elmar comes only once with her mother, Arya shuts it before she can get anywhere. Lady Catelyn, for once, remains silent. These days are very likely the last she'll get with her mother, Arya wants them to be _pleasant_. She finds herself often thinking about their relationship when she was younger. Her mother had wanted a lady and had been saddled with Arya instead. Her father had indulged her, allowing her to partake in boyish activities; which had saved her life and allowed her to remain with the brotherhood.

If Arya had been a lady, she would have stayed in the Red Keep with Sansa for years. What had made her so awkward and odd around other highborn girls saved her from sharing her sister’s fate.

She visits the crypts to see her father. Little Ned comes with her, as Arya feels he should know the man he’s named after. It’s strange, the stone of the statue is grey and cold, while the memories of her father are everything but. 

“I don’t think they look much alike,” she tells her son, who’s nested in her arms. “He was much more… Warm.” The carving makes him seem stern and severe, she can’t recall him ever being like that. “Kind, he was a great lord and a greater father.” Instinctively, she held him tighter. “He would have loved you a lot.” 

“He doesn’t sound like Grandfather Walter.” Arya has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from telling him exactly what she thinks about Walter Frey. 

“He and Walter Frey are two different kinds of men.” She tells him instead. “There are good and honorable men, like my father,” she swallowed thickly, “my brother… my friends Lord Beric and Edric. Gendry.” The truth danced at the tip of her tongue, but Arya wouldn’t have that conversation until they were both far away from the Freys and Winterfell. “Then, there are men like Walter Frey.” 

“He is scary.” Her son confided.

Arya huffed, not unkindly. “He’s a wretched old man. He can't hurt you. We’ll never see him again, remember?” Ned nodded against her neck. “We are going to my friends.”

“Was my father a good man?” He asked. 

Arya threaded carefully. “Elmar only ever did what was best for him. He let his brothers bully him into hiding important things from me, which hurt me a lot."

"That doesn't sound good." Ned provided.

"It was not." Arya agreed. "But he's gone now. So it doesn't matter. You’ll meet a lot of good men soon." Sparing one last look at her father, Arya left the crypts.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll be leaving in the search for more recruits tonight.” Jon announces during dinner. 

Robb frowns deeply, stealing Arya’s line. “So soon?”

Her older brother smiled somehow sheepishly. “The Lord Commander can’t just do as he likes, I’ve sworn an oath. I came for Arya, but officially, we left the Wall to look for new brothers.” He explained.

“You are welcome to come as often as you’d like.” Robb insisted.

Jon nodded. “I know, but I can’t. I have a duty to fulfill at the Wall.” His gaze brushed through Arya for a second, who quickly glanced at Sansa. “Besides, Princess Arya’s visit is about to end.”

Robb shook her head. “I’ve decided that Arya and her son are staying north.”

Silence was made in the table. Arya was suddenly grateful that this was a private dinner, with only their family present. She had been forced to share a few meals with the Freys who had accompanied them and the ones who lived at Winterfell, a she was considered to be part of their House.

Roslin nodded. “I’ll write my Lord Father about it, I’m sure he’ll understand.” 

Robb straightened on his chair. “Precisely, my sister’s duty to House Frey has been completed.” He smiled then, a small thing. “Now is time for her to stay with us.” Arya refused to shed any tears. She avoided her mother’s gaze.

“Tonight's the night.” Arya lets Sansa know once they are back in their shared room. A strange heaviness settled in her heart at the knowledge that this may be the last time she lays eyes upon her sister.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Sansa gifted her a perfect smile, but her eyes betrayed her emotions. “You’ve had enough of me in these years.” 

“I haven’t,” Arya replied, fighting the stinging tears. “I’m going to miss you.” Arms surrounded her before she could move to do it herself.

“Now that’s something I never thought I’d hear from you.” She laughed softly. “I hope this Gendry of yours is worth all the trouble I’m getting into when they find out you are gone for good.” She sighed dramatically. “Who will marry twice-traitorous me?”

Arya did smile then. “He is. And any man with half a brain will marry you.” 

“Any man? I thought we had agreed on Ned Dayne.” Arya’s smile widened. 

“We had.” She clung tighter to her. “I hope you’ll cause a scandal of sorts, one big enough to reach me in Braavos.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that.” This time, Sansa’s smile felt real.

Arya remembered she had one more thing to ask of her sister.

Arya left Winterfell dressed as a man, with her hair chopped to her ears, sitting on the back of a cart with her son as her older brother handled the horses. There was little ceremony in the farewell that was given by the guards, as everyone trusted well the brother of the King in the North. 

Little Ned is in his best behavior, Arya had pressed on how important it was for him to be _really_ quiet. She only allows herself to exhale once she can no longer make the faces of the guards on the gates. 

"Not exactly the adventures I promised you as children." Arya snorted, moving closer to him. She had covered Ned with a fur and left him to sleep, so the journey would pass quickly to him.

"I had my share of those in my years with the brotherhood, during the war. I wouldn't mind laying low for a while." She sighed. "I only want to see my family." She confessed. "I've been thinking about them every day for the last six years. I'm done waiting."

"Patient as always." Arya elbowed him. "To be honest, I'm a little surprised that you didn't decide to stay at Winterfell." She frowned at his words.

"Why is that?" Jon shrugged.

"The pack survives." He cleared his throat. "Robb wouldn't let Walter Frey marry you to any of his sons again and he'd have to face the North's wrath if he chose to defy him. And, well, all these years you wrote about how much you wanted to go home during the war."

"I wanted to go home because that's where my family was. I'll always be a Stark, but now my family is waiting for me at Back Haven." 

Jon nodded by her side. "I understand, the more years I spend with the Watch, the more I see them as a family of sorts. I'm glad you could find the same with the brotherhood. Lord Beric sounds like a good man"

Arya frowned. "Jon, what do you mean?" She got the feeling they were not speaking about the same thing.

“Isn’t that what you are going to do at Black Haven? Meet with the Brotherhood Without Banners?” She could hear the confusion in his voice and something shifted in her head. It was then that she realized he didn’t know every detail of the story, while being a major part of the plot. She was no longer talking to Sansa, who knew every bit of it.

“I’m meeting with some of them.” She told him slowly. “Yes, Lord Beric is at Blackhaven, but so is another man, at his service as a blacksmith.” Jon said nothing, still waiting for her to continue. “ _Jon_ ,” she stressed. “He is part of the pack.”

“Oh,” was her brother’s eloquent reply. “You two were, ah, lovers?” He seemed so uncomfortable with the topic that Arya felt the need to laugh, if just to cut the awkward silence of the woods.

“You could say so, he was the first friend that I made when I escaped the Red Keep, well, the city. We were going to the Wall together, a black brother was supposed to take us there.” Arya cringed. “Yoren, he didn’t make it. We stuck together with other boys and we eventually got captured and ended up on Harrenhal, we saw Tywin Lannister torture the Riverlands people.” The memories still haunted her from time to time. “I was his servant for a while. I couldn’t write all of this in the letters, I was paranoid.” She shook her head. “And rightfully so, Elmar had been reading my correspondence without my permission.”

Jon stayed quiet for a bit. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” she replied. “I would have liked to, but a pack of wild dogs did the job for me. A hunting accident, he had been drunk when it happened. Can’t say that I cried a lot for him.” Just the night before it happened, Arya had prayed to all the gods she knew about to take him away and they had delivered.

“It must have been hard for your son,” Jon said solemnly. “To lose his father so young.”

Arya did not bother to hide the truth. “He wasn’t much of a father. Walter Frey is terrible to have as an example, but all his sons do is follow him. I’m glad we got out of there.”

“Ned has also your blood,” Jon provides. “There’s no reason for him to be like those who came before him.”

She doesn’t contain herself this time. “Ned is not one of them.”

“Of course, he’s a Stark-“

“No, Jon. Ned is not a Frey.” She pulled her cloak harder. “He’s a Rivers.”

Arya had feared Jon’s reaction at the news. Back on when she had just given birth to Lyarra, she had often thought of how disappointed her brother would be. Life had not been kind to him as a bastard, would he resent her for bringing one into the world? She cared little for the world’s opinion, but Jon was dear to her.

“Is… Is this boy, Gendry, the father?” He asked.

“Yes.” A knot had tied on Arya’s throat, one that threatened to drown her. “He’s Ned’s father… And Lyarra’s, my daughter.” Jon turned to look at her.

“Lyarra? Robb’s daughter?” She shook her head.

“No, not _that_ Lyarra.” She huffed. “I chose the name first, _years_ first. It’s a bit of a long story.”

“It’s a long way until White Harbor.”

They spoke until dawn and Arya was proud to say she had only cried once during the whole thing. She was done with crying at this stage of the journey, there were only good things ahead. Jon didn’t hate her, which was a good thing. He was more understanding than what she would have expected him to be. Telling him was not like telling Sansa, Jon surprised her with stories of his own.

“You are with a _wildling_?”

“A free-woman,” he corrected her, then looked down, ashamed. “Her name is Ygritte.”

A question burnt through her. “Do you have any children.”

“No,” Jon answered quickly. “Though I know she wants some, when I joined the Watch I swore oaths that I intend to keep.” Arya’s neck felt hot. _Poor Jon_ , she thought. He was as honorable as their father had once been.

He spoke of how there were now wildlings, or members of the freefolk, living at the Wall with the rest of the Watch. Apparently, something was brewing beyond the Wall, something that held no logical explanation and haunted her brother’s eyes.

“Does Robb know about this?” She couldn’t help but ask. Jon shook his head.

“Not yet. They’ve been here for years, behaving well enough, but until we can make sure that everyone will be safe if we had to relocate them…” They wouldn’t risk the King in the North barging in with an army, Arya understood.

They reach White Harbor the next day. By then, Arya thinks that her family might know she’s gone. Sansa had agreed to tell them that she found herself with the pains of her moon-blood, and that she’d stay in bed with her son for the day. She could only hope that they wouldn’t be able to track them all the way to White Harbor once they realized she was nowhere to be seen.

“It feels wrong to leave you here,” her brother frowned. White Harbor was boasting with life.

“You’ve done more than enough.” She insisted, though some selfish part of her wanted to drag him to the Stormlands with them. “We’ll be fine from now on our own.” She reached for him and Jon welcomed her with his open arms. It had been years since they had last seen one another, but Arya felt like they had never been truly appart.

“This isn’t the end of it, I still need to meet that wildling woman of yours.” Jon’s cheeks reddened. 

“Ygritte.” He clarified. 

“Ygritte.” Arya repeated with a grin. “Ned, say goodbye to Uncle Jon.” The boy had been unusually quiet, which Arya attributed to their flight. Ned crooked his neck upwards to look at Jon.

“Goodbye, Uncle Jon.” 

 

* * *

 

“You’ve got to fucking kidding me.” The words left her mouth before she could help them. Little Ned gasped in her arms.

“Shut up, you little bitch. You’ll have attract every eye on us if you don’t get quiet.” There he was, tall and broad and horrible to look at, none other than the Hound himself. Apparently, he hadn’t followed Thoros and Wenda to Essos. The only reason he could be there was because either Beric or Ned Dayne had sent him.

When she asked for the Dayne’s trading ship, the last thing she had expected was to find this man. 

“What are you doing here?” She wasn’t quite out of her stupor. The Hound wasn’t having it, the years hadn’t bestowed the gift of patience upon him.

“I’m here to take you and yer brat to the stupid boy in Black Haven.” He grunted. “More like a stupid man, he’s got more hair than Beric and Thoros combined.” Arya’s heart jumped.

“You’ve seen him?”

“Damn right I’ve had, I live there!” The Hound started to walk, clearly intending for them to follow him. Arya carried Ned in her arms to keep up with the pace. “I have to deal with him and yer other brat every damn day-”

“You’ve seen Lyarra. You live with Lyarra.” She had no place for envy or jealousy, all she wanted was to hear from them. “What’s she like?”

“Cousin Lyarra?” Ned interrupted them. Both Arya and the Hound stopped in their tracks, looking equally uncomfortable. The Hound threw her a look that spoke his opinion: _I ain’t explaining that shit to him._

“No,” she answered at last and continued walking. “Another Lyarra.”

Her son spoke lowly. “The Lyarra you told Uncle Jon about?” 

The Hound let out a rough laugh. “Ye in deep shit, bitch.”

“Fuck you,” she retorted. Then she looked at her son. “Mama will explain when we get on the ship, alright?” Her son nodded and hid his face on her neck. Arya bit her lip. “Hound, take us to the ship.”

The man refrained himself from making any comments, for a change. Arya pulled the hood of her cloak back, nobody spared them a glance. The port was busy and full with activity and traders from all around were walking hurriedly from here to there. 

Edric’s ship was everything but discreet and Arya cursed him inwardly, then again, she should have known better. Bright purple sails with dark wood dressed the galeon. They boarded without any trouble, the sailors saluting them as they got comfortable. Arya and Ned were giving a cabin to share. 

She wanted to go back to the deck and ask the Hound about her daughter, but first she was due to have a conversation with little Ned.

“You didn’t go to sleep when I told you to.” She tells her son, who has the decency to look ashamed. Arya didn’t mean to scold him. “You listened to me and Uncle Jon.” He nodded, still looking down. Arya sighed, just to mask how distressed she actually felt. “Did you understand what we were talking about?” 

“What is a lover?” Her son asks, his eyes reflecting both his youth and innocence.

Arya took a deep breath. “A lover is someone that you aren’t married to, but you love as if you were.” It was the best explanation she could come up with and she had no intention of getting too explicit with him. “Me and my friend Gendry, we loved each other very much, but we didn’t get married.”

“Why is that?” 

“Because I didn’t want to,” Arya replied. “I didn’t realize- It doesn’t matter anymore. When two people love each other, sometimes, the woman gets with child.”

“Like my Aunts at the Twins?” She wished to correct him, that they weren’t his aunts, but that might be confusing for hm.

“Yes,” she answered instead. “I got with child once, before you.” She took a deep breath. “That was Lyarra, your sister.”

“I’ve got a sister?” His eyes widened. 

“Yes,” Arya said. The tears burnt in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “She’s a little older than you. Your older sister, like me and Sansa.” She swallowed thickly, moving nearer him on the cot. “Then, before I married Elmar, I got with child again.”

“That was me.” It wasn’t a question. “Father wasn’t your lover.”

“Elmar Frey had no love in his heart and I had none for him. He wasn’t your father, _Gendry_ is.” There she said it. They remained silent for a while, Arya felt like a child confessing she had been naughty. Her son was still young, she told herself, he could still grow used to the idea.

“If he was my father, why did he leave?”

Arya jumped. “He didn’t want to. But remember the war, the one that finished right before I married Elmar?” She made an effort to call him by his name and nothing else. “Your Uncle Robb needed to cross a bridge to save the North and the Riverlands, Walter Frey wouldn’t let him until he swore to marry Aunt Roslin. But that wasn’t enough, he also asked for me to marry one of his sons, Elmar.”

“I did because I had to, not because I wanted to.” She clarified. “Nothing hurt more than leaving him and your sister behind. I would have stayed sad my whole life if it hadn’t been for you,” she kissed his forehead. “You were my gift from the Gods. I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Does he also love me?” His voice was small, she could hear the tears in his voice. Arya recalled how upset he had been the day she came to tell him Elmar was dead. He hadn’t been a good father, but she knew Gendry would make up for all he didn’t get to experience.

“Yes, I know he does.”

She left him sleeping after that. She climbed to the deck once more, to be met with the Hound. 

“I want you to tell me about them.” Arya demands.

“Do I look like a focking storyteller?” He grunted at her, charming as ever. 

“No, you look like a cunt.” She replied, tasting the word in her mouth. A sardonic smile reached her lips despite her exhaustion. “I missed you Sandor.”

“Well, I didn’t miss ya and ya still look like an ugly boy." Arya took no offence. "Being with that brat is like being with you, always pestering me to practise with that little sword of hers.” 

“Needle?” Arya whispered.

“Aye.” His eyes met hers. “I like the brat, she has more mind than you and the whiny boy ever did.” 

“It wouldn’t take much.” Arya replied. “Is she happy?”

The Hound tried to shrug it off, as if he cared little. “Of course she is.”

 

* * *

 

It took her awhile to realize that it wasn’t travelling by boat what she hated, it was the company. She had only missed the Hound in theory and having him around all day was a torment she wasn’t prepared for. It had been one thing during the war, when there had been more people for him to deal with him. In the first week they spent together aboard the Dayne ship, Arya used more colourful language than she had in all her years with the Freys. It was both tiring and liberating.

Her son had taken to imitate the Hound and the other sailors much to her dismay. He had slowly came out of his shell, after some days on board. She wasn’t sure of whether to correct him or just let him speak as he wished. The Hound provided his thoughts on the matter, though Arya didn’t ask him to.

“Let the little bastard speak as he want’, he ain’t living with those highborn pricks anymore.”

“Don’t call him that,” Arya warned. She could see his point, however. “And shut up, _you_ live with highborns.” She frowned. “Sandor, you are highborn.”

The Hound snorted. “Only in name. And not even that, heard that Stannis has a price in my head.” He didn’t seem to care much. “Dissolved my House after killing bloody-Gregor.” Arya was familiar enough with his hate for his brother. She had been deep in sadness to think much about the Mountain’s execution during her pregnancy. Harrenhal came to her head. 

“He deserved much worse than he got.”

“Ya think I don’t know that?” The Hound grunted, but Arya didn’t fear him.

They stopped at Gulltown to pick up supplies and that was the first stopp from the many, _many_ to come. Arya had underestimated how long the way to Black Haven would be. It had taken a long time in the Kingsroad to reach King’s Landing, and Black Haven was even further, bordering with Dorne. Not to mention they were going by sea.

She found herself thinking of Theon, for a change. She wondered what had been of the turncloack. 

The Hound was no storyteller, but he often told her son scary tales from the War of the Five Kings. Some were not exactly appropriate for children and he gained himself some kicks under the table. Arya couldn’t -and wouldn’t- shield him from the world they lived in, but that didn’t meant the Hound was allowed to tell him of their adventures sleeping at whorehouses and butchering Lannisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And coming next, a well-deserved family reunion.


	5. Pack reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods, this chapter refused to be written. Hopefully the wait wasn't too long.

Dorne is hot. Ned Dayne used to describe its heat as being always wrapped in a warm blanket, but Arya, after spending five days on the back of a sand-steed riding through the desert, thinks it’s more like a curse that the Gods themselves designed to test the mortals. She is glad she didn’t bring any of the gowns she wore at the Twins or Winterfell, for they would have soaked with sweat within an hour. She is also glad she was born in the cold of the North and not in the scalding-hot South.

The Hound complains loudly to anyone who cares to hear him, he refused to part from his clothes to change them for the lighter and silkier Dornish ones. Arya, when handed a vest that was almost translucent, had parted from her pants and cloak gladly. Little Ned wouldn’t stop complaining, either. He wanted to take his shirt off and go around half-naked, like he would at the Twins when the weather grew hot and humid.

Arya would have let him, if one of their Dornish companions hadn’t warned against it. Better to let him deal with the heat during the day and cool it during the night, he said. His chest and shoulders would burn badly if he didn’t wear the clothes he was given. So Arya let him sulk, red-faced and with his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat. She would kill for a cold bath, or simply the chance to wet the back of her hair. Cutting her hair had been a good idea, Arya cringed at the thought of having the thick brown mane down her back in such conditions.

After a week of nothing but sand and never-ending dunes, the weather turns kinder and Arya spots green grass. Two days after that, once they are beyond the Dornish mountains and the desert, their guide sees Blackhaven. It’s smaller than Winterfell and most of the big castles Arya has seen, but she couldn’t care less about it. Her interests lay on what is within the fortress.

Her heart beats thunderously in her chest, cold sweat pooling on the low of her back and it has nothing to do with the climate. Ned rides with her, on her insistence. The Hound keeps any thoughts to himself, for once, even as they cross the bridge and enter the place. There’s little pompousness on their arrival, and she is grateful for it. She might even call it discreet.

Familiar faces crowd together, some she thought long gone and others she dreamt of every night. Arya has little time to linger on each of them, for her eyes are drawn to a shape she knows too well.

He looks nothing like she remembers him and yet so familiar. Gone is the boy she had once fought along with, who had shed away the beard because it bothered her when they kissed and had to lower himself to reach her lips. He is taller and broader too, the last remains of his boyhood are gone. His hair is longer and tied behind his back. There’s one thing that remains the same: the blue in his eyes is still the one she had gazed upon that fateful day, years ago in Riverrun. It’s enough to light a fire in belly, once she thought long dead.

She would have run to him, were they younger and alone, and he would have caught her and lifted her in his arms. Like a song. But she has a child in her arms and Gendry’s hand is attached to the one of a little girl, with long black hair and wide eyes. She stares at Arya with such intensity that her breath gets caught in her throat. Her arms tighten around Little Ned as she moves forward, towards the child that so clearly belongs to her. She stops right in front of her, suddenly afraid of rejection, but the girl is the braver of them both and extends her hand to Arya.

“I’m Lyarra,” she tells her mother, as if she wouldn’t recognize her. Arya would like to stare at her forever, to count every freckle in her cheek-bones and search for the wolf behind those deep blue eyes. She didn’t, instead, she fell to her knees before her.

“I know,” it comes out half a sob and half a whisper. Ned’s grip on her vest wavers and his head turns to his older sister, a hand lands on top of her shoulder. The contact burns her skin and she looks up to him, so solid and real that Arya fears it might be a vision from the desert. The Gods can’t be that cruel, she refuses to believe it. She opens her mouth, but no words leave her, only a choked sound. With her free arm, she pulls her daughter close. The child clings at her with desperation, and Arya is reminded of how she had clung to her father when the world seemed to be against her. This time, she lets the sob escape her. “I know.”

“You are my mother,” it’s not a question, but a statement. Arya swallows, the truth she’s been hiding away for years coming out to the light.

“Yes, I am. And this is your brother,” she pulls Ned, whose eyes are wide and curious, away from her chest. “Eddard, Ned, for your grandfather.” She wants to blink away the tears, but she finds her eyelids refusing to move, so immersed she was in her small round face. Arya couldn’t help it, she searched in her any traces of the babe she had left behind at Sharna’s Inn years ago.

The girl nods eagerly. “I know, my grandfather was Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and… he was never a traitor.” The words were recited, as a lesson learnt by a child. Arya knew then, Gendry hadn’t kept his promise. A life ago, when she was bidding him farewell at Riverrun’s forest, she had made him swear he wouldn’t tell their daughter of the truth about her parentage. She had thought she’d never see either of them again and didn’t want Lyarra to grow up with false hopes or resentments. It was easier if Arya was dead, it was done as a kindness.

Now, she was grateful.

Arya shook her head, almost violently. “He was not, he was the most honorable man who ever lived in this treacherous realm.” She kept any bitterness from sinking in. “Your father is one of the few others I could name. He saved me many times, even when he barely knew me.” She caresses her cheek. “He is a brave man.”

“He says you did most of the saving,” the girl pointed out. Arya let out a laugh, strangled as it was.

“Did he?” She looks up, hoping to meet Gendry’s eyes, but he’s staring at his son.

It’s different for him, because even if Arya had been away from Lyarra for years, she at least had those few months of happiness to recall when the nostalgia hit her, in those days that she wouldn’t leave the tower.  Gendry had never known him, never held him as a babe. All he had from him were those cryptic letters Arya had sent to Beric ages ago.

She opened her mouth, ready to introduce them, but Ned spoke before she could. He let go of his mother’s clothes and extended his hand at the gigantic man before him, puffing his chest out. “I’m Ned.” His lips trembled nervously, but he hid it well. “My mom said you were her lover,” there was a pause, and then he added, “And my father.” He stares up at him, in hopes of confirmation. As if he were asking, _is it truth?_

Arya never feels the mortification that should come with such a question. She only finds herself staring expectantly as well. Gendry doesn’t hesitates. “I am.” He shook the boy’s hand firmly, shaking him in the process. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't be there." Arya's chest constricted. "From now on, I promise you, we won't part ways ever again."

Ned was silent, always her shy boy. He nodded timidly. “I would like that. Are you a knight?”

Gendry smiled. “Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, at the service of Lord Beric Dondarrion. Your mother and I fought along him for many years.”

“For all the good you two did to me.” The handsome lord spoke. Arya turned to meet Beric, carrying a little girl in his arms, with his beard and hair longer than they had ever been.  By his side, there’s one of the prettiest women Arya has ever seen. _Allyria_ , she recalls. Ned’s aunt and Ashara Dayne’s younger sister. Beric’s wife, the woman Thoros would always tease him to be pining for. “My lady,” he bowed. “It’s been a while.”

“Beric,” a smile reaches her face. Seeing him and Gendry is like being five-and-ten once more, being an outlaw and riding to battle. The Hound orders the people around them, that aren’t many, to scatter and go back to their business.  “I’ve missed you.” It wasn’t just him, but most of the people in the courtyard. The ones she could recognize. It seemed like he had brought most of the brotherhood without banners to live with him.

“I’ve missed you as well,” he replied, his eyes shining. “Though not as much as this one. Come along, you must be tired from the journey.”

 

* * *

 

It’s both like the old times and nothing alike. Many tables are hastily put together to fit everyone; the old members of the brotherhood, the dornishmen who had helped Arya to cross the realm and the children. Ned Dayne himself had appeared, apologizing profusely for not being there to greet them at their arrival. Arya wasted no time in jumping at him, to the others amusement. She had missed him.

They shared meats and mead, along with dornish wine and Arbor Gold. Arya only needed two cups before starting to feel the pleasant warmth that such things brought. Little Ned is seated between Gendry and her. Someone has placed a high cushion for him, so it would be easier to reach things from the table. Lyarra is in one of Arya’s knees, biting down a loaf of bread with sweet butter as she hears the tales from the men on the table. Her eyes suggest that she has heard them a thousand times before, as she lives with them, but enjoys them nonetheless. Little Ned is fascinated, he listens intently to every word they say.

Arya doesn’t miss the way his eyes seem to cling at Gendry’s.  

She learns what happened after her wedding at Riverrun, with much more detail than the letters had offered. Anguy had stayed in the Riverlands, Thoros and Wenda had actually stayed with him for a while, helping to rebuild villages and such, before heading to Essos together. The Hound had stayed with Beric since the beginning, following him to Blackhaven along with Gendry and Lyarra. Some of his meanness had worn off by time, Arya assumed. And the fact that his brother had been executed might have helped.

Tom Sevenstrings eventually began to sing, picking “My Featherbed” of all songs. Arya was surprised to see the man still lived, Tom always had a tendency to land himself on trouble. Even more than her and Gendry. When the song was over, Gendry recalled the time they spent at Acorn Hall during the war. Ned suddenly asked him if that’s where they fell in love.

“We… We weren’t in love then. She looked like an acorn tree, rather than a highborn lady.” A smile pulled to side of his face. “But I can’t say I cared much about it, to the day, I’ve never seen your mother dressed as a proper lady.”

Arya chocked on her wine. “I hated you.” She said with no bite, ignoring the way his words made her feel. “I was younger than him, so the older girls would chase after him and I would get jealous.” Arya smiled. “I sent him off to _ring_ some bells more than once.” The table erupted in laughter and Gendry might have actually blushed behind his beard.

Lyarra frowned, confused. “Why would you send him to ring bells?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Little Ned added and the Hound roared with laughter, bits of chicken leaving his mouth.

Eventually, the night came. Beric offered Arya a room within the castle, which she gladly accepted though she had no intention to use. Lady Allyria took the children, insisting that her own daughter should share her rooms for a night. Arya had to keep herself from following after Little Ned and Lyarra. It felt wrong to part so soon, even if she would see them in the morning.

The rest of the men went to sleep as well, leaving the hall with tired smiles as they headed to their quarters. Once they were alone, before the servants began to clean the tables, Gendry and Arya shared a look and headed to the forge.

Finally, a thing that hadn’t changed at all: his hands. Big, warm hands with thick fingers, running through her hair as they tried to untangle the knots and caress it at once. The beard prickled her lips, the feeling not entirely unpleasant, but good and new. Naturally, she’s the one to push her against the wall.

They have all the time in the world, and while they try to take it slow, the wait has been too long. The pants she’s been given are ideal for wrapping her legs around him, so she doesn’t complain when he turns them around. Arya gasps in pleasure as his lips turn to her jaw and then her neck, leaving a trail of warmth behind. Gods, she had forgotten what it was like to desire someone. She slips her hands beneath his shirt, meeting the skin of his back.

They separate, Arya’s fingers going to undo the laces of her vest. Gendry throws her a look. He stares blankly at her as she takes the rest of her clothes.

“You can take your own bloody pants off,” she huffs with a smile.

“I’d rather have you doing it.” He complained, but took his shirt off anyway. “It’s been _too_ long since I ringed any bells.” He moved to kiss her again, an almost shy peck on the lips.

“Hopefully you haven’t lost your touch.”

 _He hadn’t_ , she thought later, with her head on his chest as he brushed loose strands of her hair. She made note of asking for moontea in the morning. The fire crackled gently beside them, warming the room. The scene was pleasantly familiar, and Arya hummed contently against him. Gendry placed a kiss on the top of her head.

“I missed you.”

“I could tell.” She was glad that Allyria had taken the children, some reunions were meant to be kept private.

“You have no idea of how much I’ve dreamt of this moment.” He commented quietly. “It killed me, to leave you there at Riverrun-“, his arms tightened around her, “I used to think about that, before Lyarra, of how the war would end and you’d return to your real family. During peace, a girl like you would have no need of some bastard smith like me.”

“I would have gone back to you,” she swore. “With or without Ned and Lyarra, you _are_ my family.” _My pack._

 

* * *

 

They stay for three more days before a riding party is prepared for them. _Braavos_ is a distant dream, the origin of her swordmaster and an assassin she once employed. Now, it’s the promise of a bright future.

A part of her wishes they could stay in Blackhaven, but it’s a risk she cannot put Beric through. She has no doubt that once her absence is noticed, a raven will be sent to Blackhaven, along with one to the Wall and Starfall, but of course, she would be far from all these places.

She hugs Beric as he bids her farewell and wishes them good luck.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Arya’s eyes threaten to cry.

Lord Beric shrugged. “Then don’t, take it as a favor.”

Ned Dayne, who’s still the prettiest man she’s ever seen, smiles charmingly. “Try not to cause much trouble in Braavos, I keep good relations with the merchants.” He warned.

“Maybe I’ll became a pirate.” Arya suggested, she heard Gendry snicker behind her. “Braavos’s Pirate Queen.”

“You’d conquer all the seas in a fortnight.” He placed a kiss on her cheek. “Make sure to write once in a while.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oh, you should write to my sister. I’ve told her about you.” At his raised eyebrows, she barked out a laugh. “Only the good things.”

“I hope.”

After thanking everyone and saying their goodbyes, they got onto their horses and rode south. A ship was to take them across the Narrow Sea from Dorne, but they’d have to get there on their own first. Arya sweated at the thought of crossing the desert again. This time at least she was in good company.

“Are we going to become pirates?” Lyarra questioned, she had heard her talk with Ned Dayne.

“I’m not sure, I’m a better rider than a sailor.” Arya said. “Why, would you like to?”

“I think I would,” Lyarra answered, adjusting her hips on the saddle. “I’ve never been at the sea.”

Well, she’d be getting enough of that very soon.

“Have you thought about what we’ll do in Braavos?” Gendry inquired.

“We have enough money to last for a while, I think we could work in the city, join a guild or something. Or we might ride with a _khalasar_ in the Dothraki Sea.” She teased. Those had been her favorite lessons with Maester Luwin, the ones that spoke of the fearsome warriors. Ned gasped with excitement.

“I mean _us_ , you and I.” He clarified. Arya frowned as she stared at the horizon.

“Us?”

“We could get married,” he suggested. “It’s a different thing in Braavos, you wouldn’t be a lady and I wouldn’t be your lord.” He cleared his throat. “Would you think about it?” He asked, finally meeting her eyes. Arya blinked at him as he got red.

Without missing a beat, she laughed. Hard, until her sides began to hurt.

“No,” she answered with a  fond smile. “I don’t think I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented and left kudos, I hope you've enjoyed the end of this story. I'm glad for all the support it has received :,) 
> 
> Make sure to tell me what you thought of the end. 
> 
> See ya!


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